18. Natasha
18
NATASHA
K illian has me on my knees, my ass in the air and my cheek pressed against the bed as he takes me from behind with a ruthless kind of pleasure. The wet sound of our skin slapping together intensifies the excitement that coils in my belly as his deft fingers circle my clit.
And despite myself, I rock back against him, needy for every last inch of his thick length.
I’ve lost count of how many orgasms he’s wrung from me tonight. But as a fresh one rips through me, my body aches with exhaustion and deep, all-consuming contentment.
I moan, the sound nothing short of lusty. But at this point, I’m beyond caring. He’s used me so well, all I can think about is the euphoria that thrums through my veins, turning the night into a haze of carnal satisfaction.
It’s like he knows just how to touch me, his calloused fingers astonishingly gentle even as he takes control. The feel of his iron abs against the small of my back, his muscular arms caging my waist. He’s everywhere all at once, demanding my satisfaction until he’s used up every delicious drop.
The heat of his seed floods my channel as he pumps me full of cum. And though I’ll never admit it, feeling him come with me sends a ripple of pleasure up my spine and out to my fingers and toes.
Our bodies pulse together, his rock-hard cock throbbing inside of me while my walls grip him again and again. And the animalistic grunt that issues from deep in his chest makes my clit twitch beneath his fingers.
“You feel so damn good, love,” he groans, his hot breath washing across the back of my neck and raising goosebumps there.
His lips brush my nape, and I shiver against him. Though he stills against me as we come down from our bliss, my hips roll of their own accord to take him deep inside me once more. And his cock throbs in response.
Breathing heavily after our exertions, I let my eyes sink closed. And when he eases out of me, I’m left with an aching hollowness. Like my body is no longer whole unless he’s buried in my depths.
The bed rocks gently as he collapses onto the mattress, and when I open my eyes, his sculpted perfection is sprawled across the sheets, glistening with sweat and drawing my eyes to each muscular line. He might be over a decade older than me, but Killian is in his prime.
He’s a man in every sense of the word. The hint of a five o’clock shadow colors his powerful jaw. It’s just a shade darker than the shock of blond he wears in seemingly intentional disarray. And somehow, that unruly hair that falls into his eyes suits him perfectly. The close fade reaches nearly to his temples before the longer locks on top seem to take on a life of their own. And I’m dangerously tempted to run my fingers through their golden silky-looking softness.
Instead, I lower myself onto the bed, allowing my exhausted muscles to relax as I sprawl on my belly. Killian’s appetite is insatiable, and I can’t deny that mine seems nearly as extreme when it comes to his expert touch. But the feathery softness of the comforter beneath me threatens to carry me off to sleep if I let it.
As if sensing my inner struggle, Killian turns his head until his light-green eyes find mine. A smirk curls the corners of his skilled lips, and he tucks one muscular forearm beneath his head to get a better look at me.
“Need a break, love?” he teases gently.
My first instinct is to deliver a biting retort, to tell him I’ll leave if he’s such an old man he can’t keep going. But if I intend to stay long enough to kill him in his sleep, I need to do something to put him at ease.
So, instead, I relax into a fuzzy contentment, allowing my eyelids to droop sleepily. “Hmm,” I murmur, as if I’ve already started to nod off.
And I’m dangerously close to doing just that.
Killian chuckles, the sound vibrating through my body like a sex toy, and I ignore the butterflies that threaten to erupt at the deep, enticingly masculine response. “I suppose I’ll allow it,” he says arrogantly, “as long as you come here.”
He extends his arm toward me, inviting me closer, and a quiver of nervous anticipation tightens in my core. I quell the unruly physical response and wiggle closer until my head is resting on his shoulder, my breasts pressed against his ribs.
His arm wraps around me, trapping me to his side as his fingers graze a light path along my skin. He shifts his head, getting comfortable as he lets his eyes drift closed. And he seems content—almost smug—to let me fall asleep in his bed.
It’s unreasonably tempting to give in to the feelings of comfort and belonging that wash through me. To fall into the intense relaxation that comes with having someone hold me. I’ve never fallen asleep with a man before, and until now, I’ve never considered the appeal of doing something so vulnerable.
But as tempting as it might be to fall asleep in Killian’s arms, I have a job to do.
And thankfully, Killian’s hubris will be my best ally in making him believe my feelings for him will stop me from seeing my job through.
It’s a struggle, keeping my body relaxed and malleable in his arms while fighting the bliss-induced drowsiness that threatens to drag me into oblivion. But I’m determined to stay awake. So I focus on the feel of his heartbeat beneath my palm, the sound of his breathing as it slows and deepens, steadily transitioning into the rhythmic rise and fall of sleep.
My heart flutters when his fingers come to rest lightly on my hip, the last of his movement settling as he eases effortlessly into unconsciousness. I’m stunned at how confidently he can fall asleep beside me.
Does he really trust me so completely?
The thought elicits an intense wave of guilt, and I shift my gaze to look up at the angry red line around his throat that I created. I don’t see how he can, when I nearly killed him just earlier tonight. I’ve come at him with all I’ve got, been perfectly vocal about how much I despise him, how I will kill him if I get the chance. And yet, he seems convinced that my feelings for him somehow shield him from that fate.
Is it an overdose of confidence? An inability to take life seriously?
He hasn’t once diminished my abilities, so I don’t think he’s underestimating the fact that I’m capable of killing a man.
So, how can he sleep so soundly in the same bed as his enemy?
My eyes travel up to his ruggedly handsome face. He looks so peaceful, the hard lines of his brow softening until he could pass for someone no older than I am. And I wonder if he might not carry that same weight of responsibility that I know my father bears from holding the lives of so many in his hands.
Killian’s relentless ability to make light of things, his natural inclination to tease and provoke those around him, makes him seem incapable of worrying. But when he sleeps, I can see that silent stress wash away.
My fingers twitch to reach up and touch his handsome face, to fully appreciate the chiseled curve of his jaw, those high, powerful cheekbones, the straight line of his nose. I want to explore him further now that he isn’t awake to see the weakness behind my curiosity.
But I squash the desire.
Touching him might wake him up. I can’t risk it.
Firmly strengthening my resolve, I hold my breath and prepare to slip free of his embrace.
I test the waters, slowly shifting until my cheek is just hovering over his shoulder. He doesn’t even stir. So I ease up onto my forearm, collecting my hair to avoid tickling him with it. His hand falls from my hip, his fingertips brushing across the small of my back and coming to rest at the base of my spine.
My core tightens, even at the innocuous touch.
Why I’m so ridiculously attuned to Killian, I don’t care to understand. But my cheeks warm, knowing that he can turn me on without even trying. Without even knowing he’s doing it.
Biting my lip, I return my focus to the task at hand, and I carefully extract myself from the space beside the beautiful Irishman. Crawling lightly across the bed, I take my time to avoid jostling the mattress or making a sound. Then I pad across the bedroom floor to my backpack and the pile of my clothes that ended up next to it.
Silently, I dig into the leather pack, feeling for the knife I stashed there.
The sound of an old-fashioned telephone ringing jolts through my body like a live wire, and I freeze as Killian tenses. In the span of a second, he’s sitting up, his sharp gaze taking in my absence from the bed.
I have just enough time to yank my hand from my bag and place it on my pile of clothes before his eyes find me. And my heart hammers as he shrewdly assesses my crouched form.
His gaze never leaves me as he reaches to the side of his bed to collect his cell phone. And he answers it without looking.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly, his voice enticingly hoarse with sleep.
He clears his throat as his eyes skim down my body appreciatively, and his eyebrow cocks in a look of silent challenge.
I’m in trouble.
But whatever he hears on the other end of the line is clearly not to his liking. And his appraisal of my body comes to an abrupt halt as his eyebrows press into a dark scowl.
“When?” he demands. Then, “And they took care of it?”
A moment of silence follows as the caller responds.
Killian releases a venomous growl that puts knots in my stomach, and he tosses aside the covers to climb out of bed. “Bloody bastards. I’m on my way.”
He hangs up, his eyes burning with fury as he stalks across the room toward me. “Did you intend to slip out on me in the middle of the night, then?” he demands.
The subtle threat in his tone makes my pulse quicken, and my mind scrambles to recover the situation before he finds out my true intentions. “I have to get home before someone notices I’m gone,” I insist, collecting my leggings and busying myself by pulling them on. “Part of what makes me effective as a secret weapon is that not even my father’s men know what I’m capable of.” It’s not a lie—my father’s men don’t know who his assassin is—but it’s not entirely the truth either since I had no intentions of leaving just yet.
Killian stops before me, his hands finding his hips as his impressive cock remains on full display. And as it swiftly starts to swell, I can’t help but lick my lips, swallowing hard as it comes to eye level with me.
“Be that as it may, you’re mine for the night, princess. And if you’re not going to sleep, then next time, I expect to wake with your mouth around my cock. Is that understood?”
Heat blossoms in my core, and my breath hitches at his command. Not that I ever intend to see it through. But I can’t expose my intentions by pushing back too hard. So, instead, I glare up at him and grumble a grudging, “Fine.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, cupping my chin with his strong hand. Then he bends to brush a tempting kiss across my lips.
My heart skips a beat, but I ignore it as I snatch up my bra. “Who was on the phone?” I ask, redirecting his attention.
“Lance,” he says simply.
“Is something wrong?” I press, grabbing my shirt and straightening to pull it on over my head.
“Just a hiccup in one of my shipments coming in,” he says vaguely, giving a casual shrug.
But his response to Lance made it sound far more serious than that. “A hiccup?” I press, straightening my clothes and collecting my backpack.
Killian starts to dress too, collecting his boxers and bringing them up around his hips before opening his impressively large closet to pull out a pair of slacks. “I should have known better than to strike a deal with the yakuza—they’re always screwing people over,” he says matter-of-factly.
And I’m astonished by how laissez-faire he can continue to sound. When the yakuza are involved, things tend to go to hell in a handbasket real fast. I’ve killed more men from the Japanese mafia than all the others put together because they constantly stab their business partners in the back. In fact, my father stopped making deals with them years ago because the one thing we can trust the yakuza to be is untrustworthy.
And when they decide to betray you, they don’t do it in a small way.
Killian must have a proper mess on his hands.
“You made an amateur move,” I tease, following him to the closet and leaning against the door jamb so I can watch him dress.
“Oh?” he asks, deftly buttoning his steel-gray dress shirt. And his eyebrow quirks in that expression of mild amusement as he casts me a sidelong glance.
“I would think a mafia boss as well established as you would know better than to do business with Saturo Takumi,” I chide.
Killian chuckles, that low, dark sound that makes my core tighten. And as he finishes rolling up his sleeves, he turns to look at me. No man has a right to look so dangerously handsome just minutes after climbing out of bed. But after he finger combs his hair out of his eyes, he looks fit for a proper night on the town.
“You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now,” he growls, and I’m stunned that he actually agreeing with me. “But it seems I’m a sucker for punishment.”
Stepping close, he wraps a strong arm around my waist, pulling me against his firm body.
“Or I enjoy tempting fate,” he murmurs, and my pulse stutters as he leans in to kiss me.
My hands slide up his chiseled chest, and I wrap my fingers around his collar as I give in to temptation, kissing him back greedily. And when he finally pulls back, we’re both breathless once again.
“You’re lucky, little minx,” he murmurs, his green eyes dancing. “If I didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, I’d have to spank you for thinking you could leave before the night’s over.”
“Promises, promises,” I breathe, though my stomach quivers at the suggestion.
Again, Killian chuckles, the vibration rumbling through my chest and making my breath catch. “I suppose I’ll let it slide this time,” he says, “but don’t expect me to let you off easy again.”
It’s you who got off easy , I think, though I bite my lip to keep my cheeky response in check. He doesn’t know how close he came to waking up with his throat slit. And I’m not about to tell him.
“I’ll see you soon, love,” he promises, and he brushes one last tantalizing kiss across my lips before he releases me.
Heart racing, I slink silently across the room to slip out onto his balcony.
And only after I’ve made it over the wall of his gated community do I allow myself to fully face how close I came to getting caught. If Killian had found out I was trying to kill him once again, it would have completely destroyed my advantage.
My skin tingles as an intense wave of relief washes through me—relief that I didn’t get caught, of course. It has nothing to do with the fact that, once more, I was unable to end Killian.
Because if I felt relief about that, it would mean I have feelings for him.
And I most definitely do not.
Not even a little bit.
I would have gone through with it , I assure myself as my feet carry me back toward the spot where I parked my Ducati. Next time, I’ll succeed.